Except Me
by AmnesiaSparkles
Summary: Most girls want Charlie or Adam. Seems like nobody even notices Averman. Except me. OC, Borderline Mary Sue First fic, please R&R. Chapter 11 is up after three years!
1. Think about it before I say anything

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Mighty Ducks. _That pleasure belongs to Disney. I do, however, own Maggie and her crush on Averman.

**A/N: **I know I'm not the only one who used to daydream and put myself in as a character in the Mighty Ducks movies. I finally decided to write a fanfic featuring myself, but I'm trying not to make me a Mary Sue. This is also my first fanfic _ever_, so **please** read and review and let me know where I could improve. It's also been a while since I've seen the movies, so I apologize for any inconsistancies this story may have. My local video store only carries the first one, and I can't find the transcripts anywhere. If anyone knows where I can find them,I would greatly appreciate it.

* * *

You would think that since everyone around me eats, sleeps, and breathes hockey, I would, too. Not true. Sure, I've been to every Ducks game since they were just District 5 losers, but it wasn't for the love of the game. At first, I was dragged along to cheer on my older brother and his teammates. As I got older, I continued to cheer the Ducks on at every game, but I really just wanted to see _him_.

At least we're on summer vacation and I don't have to deal with all the hype at school. I mean, I know the Ducks are great -- I'd have to have been living under a rock for the past six years not to -- but sometimes it seems like I'm the only one at Eden Hall who cares more about school than hockey. Not that I have much of a choice. I'm not exactly the scholarly type, and if I want to continue to go to Eden Hall, I have to maintain a grade point average of at least 3.0, so a huge chunk of my time is lost to the whole homework thing. And of course I want to stay -- and again, I give a silent thank-you to Charlie and Coach Bombay for helping me finagle an academic scholarship. _He_ goes to Eden Hall.

For the millionth time, I contemplate hunting him down and confessing everything. I'm sure he's off somewhere with Charlie. Just what I need, my brother witnessing my emotional spillage to the only guy I've ever really wanted. "Averman, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, and Charlie, why don't you stick around?" That, combined with what his reaction will no doubt be -- "Wow, Maggie, I'm flattered, but you know you're like a sister to me." -- chase away any thoughts I may have had of coming clean.

I cross my bedroom and stand in front of my mirror. My mom tells me I'm pretty, and I'm sure if my features belonged to someone else, I would be. I'm also sure my hair's natural wave would show if it weren't so long that it pulled the curl out, and it's so thick that I can't really do anything with it except pull it up in a ponytail. At least the color's pretty enough, much darker than my brother's. An entire summer of being out in the sun has awarded me with auburn highlights, but I don't wear my hair down enough to show them off because I don't like dealing with all that frizz. I smile. Not too bad, thanks to three years of uncomfortable orthodontia, but now there's a slight gap in between my front teeth from where I tripped over Charlie's skates and chipped my tooth on the edge of the coffee table. Charlie only ever tripped on the ice -- I'm the real Spazway. I run my tongue over the hole it left. At least it doesn't hurt anymore. The only thing that I'm always satisfied with are my eyes. I'm the only one in the family with brown eyes, a testament to the dad that ran away. After he left, Charlie used to make me cry by telling me I wasn't a real Conway. I don't have my mom's blonde hair or the blue eyes that she and Charlie share. A couple years back I decided I didn't want my father's eyes, either, and begged my mom to let me trade in my glasses for colored contacts, a very hardwon battle. The green lenses don't exactly cover the brown, but I'm happy with the result nonetheless.

I gather my hair up into a ponytail and secure it with the elastic I always keep around my wrist, sliding my foot into a flip-flop while scanning my room for its counterpart. Crouching down, I peer under my bed. I really should clean up that mess, but that will have towait for another day. I spy my missing sandal and pull it out, along with the sewing kit laying on the floor beside it. With both feet now clad, I sit on the bed and open the box, rooting through it until I come across a pair of scissors and some safety pins. I cut a slit up the left side of my reconstructed Van Halen halter to show off the shooting star tattoo I'd been wanting since I was twelve. It became a reality when Charlie dragged me to the tattoo parlor a month ago -- an early birthday present on his part. I safety pin the slit together and examine my handiwork in the mirror. Perfect. I grab my headphones and some CD's and head out the door.


	2. A lot goes on but nothing happens

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own the Ducks, just Maggie. I wouldn't mind owning Averman (Matt Doherty is way cute).

**Adam:** First of all, thank you for the review. I realize that Charlie has no sister, and I feel the same way you do about huge continuity errors. My original intention was to make Maggie just another girl who had become part of the Ducks' inner circle, but as I was writing this, the character took on a life of her own and was adamant about her place in the story. As a writer, I'm sure you understand. I know she's bordering on Mary Sue territory (I know!), but hopefully you can overlook that, as it's not a _huge_ aspect of the story. Also, I did proofread the first chapter -- but it was late and I apologize for overlooking anything that is incorrect. I proofed this chapter about four times (I'm obsessive like that). And I'm sorry the first chapter was so short, but I was excited! You can't fault me for that :). Hopefully you like this chapter more.

* * *

I find Charlie and company at the park a few blocks down from our house. Adam and Guy wave a greeting, and Connie yells hello across the parking lot. I smile and wave back, heading for the swing set. I sit down and grab my headphones out of my bag, stealing a glance at Averman as I do so. After rifling through my CD's, I select my "Really Good Random Mix" and turn the volume up. I open my notebook to a fresh page and look back at everyone skating around the parking lot. God, he is so fucking _cute_.

I could just tell him, I know. It'd probably make things easier, having everything out in the open. Charlie says that I never know, he might feel the same way, and wouldn't knowing for sure be better than the uncertainty I'm currently experiencing? Maybe. In a perfect world, I'd be able to tell him everything: that when I cheer for the Ducks, I'm really only cheering for him; that I've spaced out in class because I was envisioning our first kiss for the zillion and twelfth time; that I want us all to go to StepNOut -- the teen club that opened up two months ago -- for my birthday next week because it's just an excuse to look extra hot around him. And in a perfect world, he'd respond that he doesn't think of me as just Charlie's sister Maggie, and in fact, he's wanted me since the very beginning but was too scared to say anything. Then he'd lean over, brush a loose strand of hair out of my eyes, gently cup my face in his hands, and kiss me. Waters would part and angels would sing.

Unfortunately, this is my life and not a scripted Happily Ever After.

Two lines pop into my head and I scribble them down. _I want to tear the world apart / Until there's nothing in it but the two of us._ I rack my brain for something else to add, but come up with nothing. Suddenly, my headphones are down around my neck and Charlie's in the swing beside me.

He follows my gaze. "You should just tell him," he says for the eightieth time this week. He pushes himself sideways, gently bumping my swing with his. "I bet he's into you, too."

"I don't even like him that much anymore," I lie, bumping him back. "So over him." Another lie, and Charlie sees right through it.

He grabs my notebook out of my hand, reads the scribbled lyrics, and looks at me, an eyebrow raised. "And I suppose this is about Goldberg?"

A shadow falls across our feet. "What's about Goldberg?"

I look up to see Fulton standing in front of me. "Nothing." As much as I've tried to mask my true feelings, it wouldn't surprise me if he knew. He's pretty perceptive. I try to peer around him, but he's not moving. Yeah, he probably does know.

I change the subject. "What are you doing next Tuesday?"

"I don't know, probably nothing. Why?"

I swing forward and kick him, losing a flip-flop in the process. "It's my birthday, Cake-Eater." Except for Charlie, Fulton knows me better than anybody else. I almost can't believe he forgot, until I look up at him. He's grinning.

"Joke," he says. "What do you have planned?"

"I'd like it if we could all go to StepNOut, but I don't know how everybody else feels about going to a dance club," I answer. Truth is, I know the guys won't really want to go, but I'm hoping they'll humor me because I'm the birthday girl.

Fulton makes a face, and I can hear my brother saying "no way" next to me. I stick out my lower lip and make a sore attempt at puppy dog eyes. "Please, guys? It's my _birthday_."

They shrug, noncommittal. "Maybe," Fulton replies.

"We'll put it to a vote," Charlie adds. The fair leader, that's him. No wonder he's captain.

I swing forward and kick Fulton's other leg. "To make things even," I explain with a smile. "Are you guys ready to call it quits? I'm hungry and I don't want to eat lunch by myself." I stand and put my flip-flop back on.

Charlie stands and stretches, then he and Fulton start to follow me back across the park. "We're just going home, right, Maggs?" he asks. "Because I'm broke."

"Me, too. Hey," I say, as we reach the others, "you guys hungry? We're heading back to our house for lunch if you want to come."

"I don't think Goldberg's ready for lunch," Averman says. He lines up a shot and takes it, hitting the goalie squarely in the chest.

Goldberg groans. "Ouch! Yeah, Averman, I'd much rather be hit by flying discs than eat. Why don't you aim for my face next time?"

"Well, now that I have your permission," he jokes.

The others skate their way across the parking lot to where we're standing. Once again, I'm momentarily surprised by how few of us there are. Some of the out-of-staters will be joining us next week, coming up to visit with the birthday girl, but I'll have to wait until school starts in the fall before we're all together again.

Charlie and Fulton lace their rollerblades back up and start off in the direction of our house. I walk after them as the others follow. Since I'm the only one not skating, it doesn't take long before I fall behind. I put my headphones back on, but they're back around my neck again in no time. This time Fulton is the culprit.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

"So, who is he?"

I glance over at him. I'm surprised, though I know I probably shouldn't be. Like I said, the kid is nothing if not perceptive. I decide to play dumb. "Who's who?"

"Maggie." He skates ahead of me and circles back. "Do I look stupid? Careful how you answer that," he adds. "I'm a whole lot bigger than you."

I shrug. "It doesn't matter. It's not like he'd ever feel the same way about me." Unfortunately.

Fulton snorts. "What are you talking about? You're friendly and easygoing. You...you have awesome taste in music. You're creative and...and you're fun. What guy wouldn't want to date a girl like you?"

Thanks for the pep talk, Coach. "Have you ever thought about dating me?"

He shakes his head. "No way, you're like a sister to me. Oh," he says, as he realizes what I'm after.

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe --"

I hold up a hand to silence him before he can carry on further. I don't want to hear it. We continue on in silence for a few minutes, until Fulton nudges me and skates ahead to catch up with Connie and Guy.

The last one home, I toss my bag on the floor by the couch -- hope nobody trips over it, that could result in another chipped tooth -- and head into the kitchen. It's loud in here, but it usually is when you get the eight of us together. I leave my headphones where they are, but turn the volume up so I can hear the CD.

Opening the fridge, I grab the bread, milk, butter, and two slices of Velveeta. I put two slices of bread in the toaster and pull a can of tomato soup out of the pantry. I grab a bowl and spoon from the dishwasher, but I can't find the can opener anywhere. I scan the kitchen and find it laying beside the microwave just as my toast pops up. After heating up the mixed soup and milk, I butter the toast, sandwich the Velveeta in between the two slices, and microwave my sandwich. Goldberg asks me what I'm making.

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup," I answer. "Best meal ever."

Goldberg shakes his head. "I don't know. It's good, but I wouldn't consider it the best meal ever."

"Well, I would," I say. "Finding me a guy that can cook would be awesome, but as long as he can make me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, I'll be happy." I'm not joking, either. That's been my birthday dinner for years.

"You're a cheap date," Averman teases me. He scoots over and pats the seat next to him. "You're sitting by me."

I take a seat next to him. Being in such close proximity to him both thrills me and makes me nervous, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I want to say something clever, but nothing comes to mind. I busy myself with my meal instead and don't realize that Connie's talking to me until Averman elbows me.

I look up. "Sorry, what?"

Connie smiles. "It's okay, I just asked what you were listening to."

"Ben Lee. He's kind of like John Mayer, only good. Lots of guitar, he's really mellow."

She nods. "Guys with guitars are sexy," she says. Guy makes a face.

I laugh. "Yeah, they are." So are hockey players with curly red hair and glasses.

"What about redheads that play hockey?" Averman asks.

"The sexiest," I respond. "Can you cook?"

Averman grins. My God, I love his smile. "I can make tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. What else do you need?" Like he has to ask.

I notice that the other end of the table has fallen silent at the same instant I realize that Charlie still has my notebook. Oh, no. Charlie has it open on the table, and Fulton and Adam are reading over his shoulder. I drain the rest of my soup and slam my bowl down on the table. Goldberg looks up from his meal, but immediately looks back down after seeing the look on my face.

"Charlie?"

He looks at me. Busted.

"Do you know why I'm so unhappy?"

Fulton tries to intervene. "Maggs, come on. These are...they're really good, okay? I mean, for being all girly and unrequited love-ish."

I close my eyes and inhale. "Not helping." I get up from the table and snatch my book out of my brother's hands before stomping up to my room.


	3. I'm coming slow but speeding

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm sorry it's taken me almost forever toupdate, but I had a lot of personal stuff that was making my life crazy. I'll try to be expeditious about future updates, I promise!   
I don't own _The Mighty Ducks_, blah blah blah, but I wouldn't mind owning Matt Doherty. Just for a little bit.

* * *

It's a week after the notebook fiasco, and I am having the time of my life. Averman has just showed up at my house pulling a Lloyd Dobler, complete with Peter Gabriel blasting from a boombox. I raced downstairs to meet him and he confessed that he's been in love with me for years and can't take it anymore. Breathless with excitement, I told him I feel the same way, which led to him taking me in his arms that's where I'm at now. He looks at me, opens his mouth, and says, "Good morning." 

Good morning? I finally get what I've been wishing for for the past eight years and all he says is "good morning?" No, wait. There's more.

"It's eight thirty-five on this beautiful sunny morning," he continues, "and I'm Johnny Dakota. Thanks for joining me here on KPZZ, where we always add pizazz to your day."

I curse Johnny Dakota for interrupting the best dream I've had all month.

Why did I set my alarm for eight thirty, anyway? I'm on summer vacation. I don't have a job. All I have to do today is

Today. Today is Tuesday. My birthday. I'm sixteen. And my driver's test is in an hour. I fly out of bed and run to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed. I do a once-over in the mirror. I look good. I look capable. I look exactly like the kind of person that should be behind the wheel of something that weighs two tons. Entrust me with your life, Mr. Driving Instructor. I'm ready.

My mom calls up the steps. "Maggie, we better get a move on. You don't want to be late!"

She's right, so I grab my bag and race downstairs. She and Charlie are at the kitchen table, finishing breakfast. I open the cupboard and grab a Special K cereal bar. I devour it in less than a minute, uttering a muffled "Thanks!" when Charlie wishes me a happy birthday, then grab a second one and stuff it in my bag. These things are awesome.

"Happy birthday, Maggs," my mom says, giving me a hug. She escorts me out to the car. "Sweet sixteen, huh? I remember when you were born. I was in labor with you for twenty-four hours; you took your sweet time coming out. And then suddenly, there you were, tiny and beautiful and perfect."

"And when you brought me home, Charlie said "

"Put her back where she came from!" We finish this story together, laughing. We reminisce the rest of the drive until we arrive at the DMV. My mom follows me inside and we fill out the necessary paperwork, and then it's time for me to take the test.

My mom hands me the car keys. "Good luck," she says, giving me another hug. "Don't hit any cones, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "You say that like they're people."

She gives me the Mom Look. "I say that like I want you to get your license. Be careful, huh?"

I nod and follow the driving instructor outside. We make sure all the lights and signals are functioning properly, and then he's in the passenger seat and it's off we go. I sail through the maneuverability part without so much as nudging a single cone and make it through the designated route with no trouble. In half an hour, I am parked in the DMV lot listening to the instructor congratulate me on becoming a licensed driver.

I did it. I can barely believe the test is over already, it was that easy, and it's all I can do to listen to the man sitting next to me finish his speech. The second I see his fingers on the door handle, I'm out like a shot, running to give my mother a hug.

"Picture," I say, barely able to conceal my excitement. I can drive! I can drive and I don't need my mother in the seat next to me! "Now."

We take the long way home, this time with me behind the wheel. I ask if we can stop for cones at Dairy Queen, and even offer to spring for both of ours.

"Baby, it's your birthday," Mom says. "You're not buying your own ice cream. Hey," she adds, pointing at an empty spot in the Dairy Queen lot, "there's an empty space."

I ignore her and parallel park on the street, just to show her how well I can do it. I didn't just get my licence for nothing.

Mom buys a single scoop of vanilla for herself and treats me to a double scoop of orange sherbet and chocolate ice cream. I force-feed her a bite, just to prove it's not as gross as it looks. I sit down at a picnic table, and she takes a seat opposite me.

I start to hum the happy birthday song to myself, then stop. That's kind of obnoxious, even if I _am_ the birthday girl. "So," I say. "My party's tonight."

"That's right, it is. Is the whole team coming over?"

I shake my head. "Well, Dean's here, and Julie got here yesterday, but Luis's flight doesn't come in until this afternoon. Russ, Kenny, and Dwayne aren't even coming. I have to wait until fall to see them again, when school starts." The thought saddens me. Though we're not really close, Russ is one of my favorite people. Ever. I really don't want to wait another month and a half to see him. I cheer up when I realize that Luis arrives later today. I love flirting with Luis, mainly because both of us know the other doesn't really mean anything by it, and also because it gets on my brother's nerves.

We finish our cones in silence and walk to the car. I turn the radio on and pull out onto the street, backtracking several times on the trip home. What can I say? I like this driving thing.

As I pull onto my street, I can see everyone gathered around outside my house. I can't help but wonder what's going on. My confusion only grows as I see the World's Ugliest Car blocking my access to the garage. Nothing matches. The body is blue, except for the trunk and hood, which are orange and maroon, respectively. Each tire has a different, non-matching hubcap. The antennae is bent at a forty degree angle, like someone grabbed it when it was moving and forgot to let go. I park my mom's Camry and get out, peering inside the monstrosity in my driveway. The seats are disgusting, falling apart, with little bits of foam all over the place. The fabric from the ceiling is hanging down in the middle, like the windows were down for every rainfall. I can't think of a single person I know that would be willing to drive this car.

I stand up and look at my friends. "Who's car is this?"

Charlie steps forward. "It's yours," he answers, giving me a hug. "Happy birthday."

"Guys," I protest, "this is the ugliest car I've ever seen. Seriously. It's gross."

"Well, now it's your gross, ugly car," Averman says. "Happy birthday, Maggie. From all of us, to you."


	4. It's always you in my big dreams

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the awesome reviews! You guys make my day, seriously. Here it is, another delicious chapter for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _The Mighty Ducks_. Disney does, and lots of other people. So don't sue me or anything, okay?

* * *

Okay, so, I know I'm pretty lucky. I've got my health and a really good relationship with my mom, my brother and I are close, and I have some awesome friends. Seriously awesome, since they all chipped in to buy me my first car. I mean, sure, it's the most disgusting car ever, but it's a car, and it's mine. And, okay, I've never had a boyfriend, and the guy I've fallen for displays absolutely zero interest in me, but at least we're friends. 

That's going to change by the end of the night. I'm going to snag me a hockey player boyfriend.

I've managed to get everyone agree to a night of dancing the night away at StepNOut, and I'm hard at work, primping. I have to look super hot if I'm going to turn Averman's head tonight. At the moment, I'm undecided as to what to wear. I pick up the phone and dial my reinforcements.

"Hello?"

"Luis, it's Maggie." His plane landed two hours ago, and I need his imput now. "What are you doing?"

He sounds distracted as he answers me. "In the middle of getting ready. What do you need?"

"Your help. I want to catch someone's attention, and I thought you could help me figure out which outfit I look hottest in."

He laughs. "Girl, you could wear a potato sack and you'd still turn heads."

I grin. "I'm so glad you're back. So, can you come over when you're done?"

"Um, yeah. Give me half an hour, I'll be there."

We say our goodbyes and hang up. I use the thirty minutes I have to do my hair and makeup. I put my hair in spiral curls, pulling it back behind my ears and securing it with a silver claw clip. I pull a tendril out and curl it again, pulling it out so it frames my face. On to makeup. Aveeno lotion and foundation. Now my eyes. I pick a purple eye crayon and color my lids, drawing it out a little bit past the outer corners of my eyes. I do the same with the silver eyeliner. I curl my lashes and swipe on a single coat of clear mascara. I brush some blusher on my cheeks and am slicking on a nude lip gloss on when I hear a knock on my door.

"It's open!"

I dab some pink gloss over the nude stuff as Luis walks in.

"I'm a hell of a birthday present, huh?"

I give an excited shout as I leap out of my desk chair and run to give my friend a hug. "You sure are," I say, wrapping my arms around him. I take his hand and pull him towards my closet. "Now help me, please?"

He looks at me, hard, then faces my closet. He goes through my clothes and thrusts a skirt and two pairs of jeans into my arms. "Go try these on," he says. We go through the same routine with the eighty-seven million tops he makes me try on before selecting which one looks best with my push-up bra. When we're done, I'm outfitted in my Silver "cute butt" jeans and a black and lavender corset that I had forgotten I own. I pull on a pair of strappy black sandals and a sparkly purple belt. Hoop earrings and my locket complete the outfit.

My locket. My hands fly to my neck and open the heart-shaped pendant, pulling down the tiny frame in the middle that holds a third picture. My mom. Charlie and me. My dad. The last thing I ever got from him, a birthday present before he left us and didn't come back. The only thing I never take off, even in the shower. I wonder, for a moment, where my father is. I wonder if he's happy, or if he misses us. If he misses me. I wonder if he realizes it's my birthday today.

Luis's voice shakes me out of my reverie. "You gonna let me have a look at you or what?" he asks.

I close my locket and turn around. "Sorry, Luis." I do a three-sixty in front of him. "So? How do I look?"

He gives me a long, appraising look. "Damn," he says, nodding appreciatively, "I should charge you for my services or something."

"Thanks, Luis." I hug him again.

"You owe me a dance, girl," he tells me as we walk downstairs. "Who are you trying to impress, anyway?"

I avoid the question with a "none of your business" glare. "I haven't even told Fulton yet," I reply. "What makes you think I'm gonna tell you?"

"Okay, okay."

The crowd in the living room, which is comprised of Charlie, Adam, Goldberg, Fulton, Dean, and Averman, falls silent as Luis and I walk in. The silence makes me nervous.

I clear my throat. "Guys? Say something."

Adam coughs. "Uh, happy birthday?"

"You already said that," I remind him. "How do I look?" I do a little twirl to show myself off.

Dean raises his hand. "You're staying in between me and Fulton all night, dude."

"Except when she's dancing with me," Averman interjects.

Adam nods. "Me, too."

Charlie stands up. "You're not going out of the house dressed like that."

Good grief, Charlie Brown. "Yeah, I am."

"I'll get Mom."

"Charlie!"

"Mom!"

My mother suddenly materializes next to me. "What?"

Charlie points at me. "Tell Maggie she has to change if she wants to come out with us."

Mom looks at me. "I think she looks fine. You might want to take a jacket with you, though," she says, addressing me. "It might cool down later on."

I give her a hug. "Thank you, Mom."

"Hey, it's your birthday, right? You guys be careful." She eyes the guys. "You keep an eye on my baby, huh?"

"Mom" I protest. "I'm sixteen now."

"Right." She hugs me again, before pushing me towards the door. "You call me at midnight if you think you'll be out past one."

I nod my head in agreement and wave goodbye as we all walk out the door.

StepNOut is not as crowded at I had anticipated, and it doesn't take much time before we spot the rest of the Ducks sitting at a table at the edge of the dance floor. I receive hugs and a second round of "happy birthdays" from everyone before Luis drags me out on the dance floor for the dance I owe him.

It takes me a second before I find my beat, but I do, and then it's me and Luis shimmying in time to the music. He puts a hand on my hip to guide me, pulling me forward as he steps backwards. I lean into him for a second before snapping back, pulling him with me. We dance for the rest of the song, and the two after that, and then a slower song comes on.

I pull away from Luis. "I need a break," I pant. I haven't moved like that in a while, and it took more out of me than I thought it would. I make my way over to our table, where Charlie and Averman look like they're doing some serious conferencing. They shut up as I approach. I sit down next to Averman and ask where everyone else is, then nod when I see them dancing. I ask who's going to buy me a soda.

Charlie stands up. "I'll go get it."

Another slow song comes on as this one ends, and Averman asks me if I want to dance with him.

Duh. I want to dance with him, make out with him, cuddle on the couch and watch movies with him. "Sure," I say, instead of telling him all of that. I take his hand as he leads me out on the floor. My hands go around his neck as his come around my waist.

I've never been this close to him before, and oh, my God, I can feel his heartbeat. I lay my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. I inhale, breathing in his cologne and aftershave and "boy smell." I'm not certain, but he may just be the best smelling guy I've ever met. _Averman, I am so into you._ I open my mouth and come so close to saying that aloud before I realize what I'm doing. I close my mouth.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

He looks at me. "No, you were going to say something. You said, 'Hey, Averman,' and then you shut up. You can't leave me hanging like that."

"It's my birthday," I retort. "I can do whatever I want, right?"

He grants me another one of his terrific smiles. "I guess you can." His face gets serious all of a sudden. "Um, so, Charlie and I were talking earlier, and he said" He hesitates, looking away from me.

No. No, no, no, no, no. My brother loves me and he wants me to be happy. There's no way he would embarrass me like that, I'm almost positive, but there's only one way to find out. "Charlie said what?"

"Do you really like me?"

I can feel my face get hot as I look at the floor, at the speakers in the corner, at the bar, anywhere but his face. I am humiliated. I wriggle out of his arms and turn away from him, tearing across the dance floor. I can't believe Charlie would betray me like that, but one look from him confirms it.

He tries to stop me as I walk past. "Maggs, I'm sorry. I was just trying to help"

"I'm going to find Fulton, and I'm going to ask him for a ride home," I interrupt, close to tears. "And I don't think I'll want to talk to you for a while."

"Maggie, I'm sorry"

I hold my hand up, cutting him off. I catch Dean's eye, and he nudges Fulton. In a matter of seconds, they're beside me, asking what's wrong, and do I want them to kick some ass for me? I promise to tell them everything in exchange for a ride. They say goodbye to Charlie and the rest of the Ducks, and then we're headed home.

We ride in silence for a few minutes, then Fulton speaks. "So."

I look at him out of the corner of my eyes, staring at the houses we pass. "Yeah."

He reaches out to touch my arm. "Maggie, come on."

This is the only real secret I've ever kept from Fulton. Even when Charlie and I weren't getting along, Fulton was always there for me, like a surrogate big brother. He's the only person I've ever considered to be my best friend, and I feel like I owe him an explanation, so I take a deep breath before confessing.

"It's Averman," I say, letting the air out of my lungs.

Dean, who has no idea what's going on and is only along for the ride, looks at me. "What about Averman?"

I turn to face them both. "I like him. A lot. He's the one I write all those stupid little songs about. And Charlie knew and he told him tonight and it's just embarrassing, okay?" I reach out and hit Fulton. "I told you he wouldn't feel the same way," I grumble.

He grabs my arm. "You don't hit me."

We pull into my driveway as I pull my arm away, so I can ignore him. I unbuckle my seat belt and tumble out of the car. "Thanks for the ride," I call over my shoulder. "Bye, Dean!" I yell, waving over my head as I walk up to my door.

I head up to my room, walking softly so as not to wake my mom, who's asleep on the sofa. I know I shouldn't be mad at Fulton, and I'm not, really. I'm mad at Charlie, and Fulton's just...there. I shouldn't use him as a punching bag, and I feel bad about it. I think about calling his cell to apologize, then change my mind. Right now, all I want to do is crawl in bed and pull the covers up over my head and make everything disappear. I turn out the lights and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.


	5. Oh no, not me, we never lost control

**A/N:** First of all, thank you SO MUCH for your reviews, y'all. They seriously make my day and make me want to keep writing. You guys are all so awesome!  
I'm trying to update as quickly as possible for you! I'm also working on two other writing projects at the moment, so things are kinda hectic with those, as well.  
I know exactly what's going to happen in the next chapter! I was inspired...my roommate rented _The Notebook_ last night, so I'm definitely feeling the romantic vibes. Nicholas Sparks writes a good love story, huh?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Ducks, blah blah blah. Don't sue me!

* * *

I wake up to Nirvana's "The Man Who Sold The World," and am confused for a minute, until I realize it's just my phone. I check the display. Fulton. I yawn before answering.

"I forgive you." Well. He sounds pleasant enough, considering the argument we got into last night.

I'm appropriately chagrined. "I'm sorry. I was mad at Charlie and I took it out on you. It wasn't your fault."

"I said I forgive you." He sounds slightly annoyed, and I can picture him on the other end, rolling his eyes. "Have you talked to Charlie yet?"

"I just woke up," I answer. "I don't even know what time he got home."

"You might want to talk to him," he says. "And then talk to Averman."

"Why?"

"I know the whole story, what's going on with you guys. You need to dialogue."

I'm surprised. "How do you know the whole story?" I demand.

Fulton laughs. "I know everything, dude. I'm hanging up now," he cautions. "Go talk to them. Then call me or come over or something, okay?"

I agree and hang up the phone.

After I shower and dress, I give Charlie only a cursory knock on his door before entering his room.

Still in bed, he's not happy about my intrusion. "What if I was naked or something?"

Gross. I shrug. "Then you'd learn to keep your door locked," I respond. I cross over to his desk and pull out his chair, shoving aside a pile of dirty clothes so I can sit down. "You need to do some serious laundry," I inform him.

He groans and throws a pillow at me. "I liked it better when you were mad at me."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"You should be," Charlie says. "You didn't even let me tell you the whole story."

I lean forward. "So tell me now," I suggest. "What exactly happened?"

Charlie shakes his head. "Nothing, really," he says, eliciting a sigh from me. He sits up. "I'm serious. We were just sitting there, watching you dance, and Averman said something about how nice you looked or something..."

I have to interrupt. "What did he say?"

"I don't know," he says. "Something like, 'Wow, Maggie's looking pretty hot tonight,' I think. You're just my sister," he points out. "What do I care?"

I throw his pillow back at him. "Continue."

"Right. So I told him that he should tell you that, and he was like, 'No, I don't think so.' So I said, 'Well, you know, she's crazy about you.'"

I bury my face in my hands. "You didn't," I groan. Except I know he did, given the rest of the previous night's events, and I've come too far now to leave without hearing the rest of the story. "So what did he say?"

Charlie shrugs. "He didn't really say anything at first, just kinda looked at you for a while. Then finally he just said that knowing that changes everything, and he said he needed to talk to you alone. That's why I left to go buy you a pop, so you guys could talk."

"Soda," I correct automatically.

"Maggie," he practically yells, "perspective, okay? That's not the important part!"

"Sorry," I say, contrite. Sheesh. But he's right, I know. The logical part of my brain is struggling to realize the enormity of what's just been said, while the part of my brain that never tells me to think before I speak is ready to celebrate. This is huge.

My brother nods. "It _is_ huge." He repeats the words I wasn't aware that I had spoken. "You're welcome."

I stand up and stretch. "Thank you, Charlie." I turn towards the door. "I have to go talk to him," I say, as I walk out of his room.

I'm in my car and have driven halfway to Averman's house before my nervousness catches up with me. Suddenly, I don't think I can do this. I make a U-turn and drive back to my house. I pull back into the driveway and head back on up to my bedroom. I pass Charlie on his way to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Going back to bed," I answer. "I've had a long day."

He grabs my wrist to check my watch. "Maggs. It's ten-thirty."

"Yeah, well," I say, pulling back my arm, "I got up early."

He looks at me, his eyes narrowed. "You chickened out, didn't you?"

I lower my eyes. "Doesn't matter," I mumble.

Charlie disappears into his room. "Wait here," he instructs. When he returns a minute later, he looks smug. I know that look. That's the same look he wore when I was eight and he bet me five dollars I wouldn't pour maple syrup in our babysitter's shoes. That's the same look he wore when I was twelve and he convinced me that walking the neighbor's dog while riding my bike wasn't as bad an idea as our mom thought. It's the same look he wears whenever he's up to something.

I look at him, suspicious. "What did you just do?"

"I just called Averman. He's expecting you, so you'd better get a move on." He gives me a gentle push in the direction of the staircase.

"Charlie..." I protest.

He doesn't give in. "I'm doing you a favor," he says. "If I didn't call him for you, you'd never talk about this. Ever."

He's right, I know, so I suppose I can't really complain. I do anyway, hollering up the stairs as I make my way back to the car.

I see him leaning out of his window as I'm backing out onto the street. I roll my window down. "What do you want now?"

"I just wanted to wish you good luck!" he yells down to me. He holds his hand up. He's got his fingers crossed for me.

"Thanks, I guess!" I call back. I cross my fingers, too. Good luck? I think I'm going to need it.


	6. I've found I'm scared to know I'm always...

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, I definitely don't own the Ducks. Maggie's mine, and I still want Matt Doherty, but that's it.

**A/N:** To everyone who's reviewed: Y'all, I love you. Seriously. Lots & lots of love for you. You make me wish I could write all the time, just so I can update faster and get even more reviews. I'm sorry the last chapter was so short. I had originally intended to put that one together with this one and make it one long chapter, but I thought it stood better by itself.  
So here it is: Maggie's discussion with Averman. Enjoy, and keep in mind that, as always, feedback is much appreciated.

* * *

My stomach is in knots as I pull up in front of Averman's house. As I walk up to the door, I try to remember the last time I was this nervous. Honestly? I can't. I can't remember ever feeling quite this apprehensive. 

Averman's stepdad, Frank, answers the door. "Hello, Maggie," he says, ushering me inside. "Les is in his room. You know the way."

I try to calm the butterflies in my stomach as I make my way through the living room and kitchen, until I'm at the back of the house in front of Averman's bedroom door. I raise my hand and knock. I can't _believe_ I let my brother talk me into this. This is going to be a disaster, I can feel it.

"Maggie, hey," Averman says with a grin. Oh, God. Whenever he smiles at me, I could _die_, and today is no exception. I feel myself get weak in the knees as I smile back, trying to match his apparent confidence and failing miserably. "Come on in." He closes the door behind us and gestures to his bed. "Have a seat."

He plops down on the bed and I follow suit. "So what's up?"

I look down at my feet. "Nothing," I mutter.

He looks down at the ground, too. Neither of us say anything for a while, and I think it's almost nice, us sharing this silence together.

Averman coughs, breaking the silence. "I want to talk about last night," he says, finally.

I really don't. I really don't want to be here, and I really don't want this to be happening. "What about it?" I throw my glance around his room, looking at the floor, at the walls, at anything but his face.

He touches my arm and my resolve weakens. I look up, brown-green eyes meeting blue. "Do you like me?"

A lump forms in my throat and I feel like I'm going to cry. I don't say anything, just nod, after a minute.

He looks away, then back at me. "This changes everything," he says, quietly.

The way he says it makes everything sound so horrible that I try desperately to backpeddle.

"It doesn't have to." I detect a pleading note in my voice. "You, uh, you can forget all this, and I'll go home, and everything will be like before. Like it used to be."

Averman shakes his head. "We can't do that," he says, a lopsided grin appearing on his face.

Everyone I know says I'm hard-headed to a fault. I'm stubborn; I will challenge everything that doesn't go my way. I suppose they're right, for I find myself demanding an explanation. "Why can't we?"

"Because," he says, simply. He falls silent for a moment before asking, "How long have we known each other?"

I look at him, startled. "Forever." I can't remember a time in my life without Averman in it. Even before hockey, he and Charlie were inseparable. And, since the two year gap in our ages has never seemed quite that large, I was usually in their presence, as well. I've never really tried to make friends of my own. I always figured, why bother? Charlie never minded when I tagged along, so his friends were always my friends, too. "Ever since I can remember."

"Exactly," he agrees. "You were always there. And I never really thought about it, you know? You were just...Maggie. Charlie's little sister. And then..." He stops, and I find this unacceptable.

I touch his hand, jumping as a wave of static electricity runs through me. "Hey. Then what?"

"Then I started thinking about it. And you were still Maggie and you were still Charlie's sister and you were still the same girl I'd always known and grown up with, but it's like you were more than that, too. And I didn't know how I felt about that. I wasn't sure how to deal with it."

Jeez-oh-man. All the fantasies I've been harboring since I was nine are coming true, and I realize that he's right. This _does_ change everything. "Is that why you never said anything?"

He nods. "Yeah, and I didn't want things to be weird or anything."

There are a million jumbled thoughts bouncing around in my head. "This _is_ weird, though," I admit, trying to sort my thoughts into coherent little piles. "How do we fix it?"

Averman shrugs. "What do you want to do?" Great. He's leaving it all up to me.

Slowly, I shake my head. "I don't know. I've never done this before."

"Well, do you want to try this with me?" he asks. "Maybe see where things go?"

"I don't know," I repeat, and it dawns on me that I really _don't_ know. I don't know how to tell him that I've never so much as kissed a boy before. I don't know how to be a good girlfriend. All I do know, really, is that suddenly there are all these what-ifs presented to me, and I'm finding them more than a little scary.

"Well, why not?"

I sigh. "I don't know," I say for a third time. "What happens if this doesn't work out? What if it's too weird or something? What if things get bad and awkward and we're not friends anymore?" This last thought terrifies me. I don't think I could handle it if I lost Averman's friendship. "What if--"

"What if we're okay and things go great?" he counters. "Maggie, we're always going to be friends. No matter what happens. I mean, I'm not trying to pressure you," he adds, taking my hand in his. "I just want you to know that I'll always be here."

I nod, biting my lower lip. "I just...Can I just think about this for a little bit?" I have an incredible urge to run, to escape to someplace safe where I can fully process the events of the past twenty-four hours. Like I said, I'm scared, okay, and a little confused, and I want nothing more than to go somewhere else and just think and try to figure everything out.

"Oh," Averman says. "Okay." He looks so disappointed and I want to cry for doing this to him. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him never mind, I didn't mean it, I take it back, but I think about it for a second too long and I have to go.

Realization sinks in as I drive away. "What an idiot," I tell myself. I bang the steering wheel in frustration. Good God, how absolutely _stupid_ am I? I had everything within my grasp and I gave it up because I think too much.

At the Reed house, I find the spare key under the Welcome mat and let myself in. After grabbing a Sprite from the kitchen, I follow the sounds of Aerosmith to the den, where Fulton, Dean, and Adam are playing _Tiger Woods 2005_. Stepping in front of the television, I strike a pose and play an air guitar riff along with Joe Perry. "Hello, boys," I greet them.

"You know," Adam says with a smirk, "I wouldn't mind that as much if you were wearing the same outfit you had on last night."

I shift the can of soda from hand to hand. "Banks, I will throw this at you," I threaten.

Dean whistles. "A little hostile today, huh?"

Fulton nods in agreement. "Why aren't you with Averman?" he wants to know.

I sink down in the beanbag by his feet. "I," I begin, pausing for effect, "am an idiot."

"Well, yeah," Fulton laughs, "but that doesn't have anything to do with what I just asked."

I punch him in the calf, which doesn't really do anything except make my hand hurt. "You're an asshole, Fulton Reed," I inform him. I briefly consider "accidentally" spilling my drink on him. "Why am I even friends with you?"

"Who else would you hang out with?" Adam points out. "I'm not trying to be a dick or anything," he's quick to add when Dean elbows him. "I'm just saying, is all."

"Anyway," I change the subject, "I want to play golf." I grab the controller out of Fulton's hands.

He grabs it back. "Not until you tell me what happened."

"I'm stupid, okay?" I take a long sip of my Sprite. "And my retardation is bound to render me boyfriendless for the rest of my life."

"You thought too much about it, didn't you?" He knows me too well, and for a minute, I resent that.

Adam raises his hand. "Question."

"Whatever." I take a deep breath, exhaling loudly. "Ask away."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter." I lean back against the couch, then change my mind, deciding to explain. I sit back up. "So, okay. So, Charlie calls Averman up today and tells him I'm coming over, so he's expecting me and I have no choice but to actually go over there and talk to him. And you know what he says?"

"Actually, yeah," Fulton replies. "I know the whole pre-story, remember?"

I choose to ignore him. "He likes me, too!" I tell Dean and Adam. "But I'm stupid and I stopped to actually think about things and I got kinda freaked and I bolted." I cringe inwardly, remembering the mess I caused. If I weren't so dumb, I'd still be at Averman's, and if I knew how to play my cards right, I'd probably have my first kiss by now. "I just started thinking about all these what-ifs."

"Like?" Dean prompts.

"Like, what if I suck at this whole girlfriend thing?" I answer. "What if I'm a bad kisser and he breaks up with me? What if we get all weird and can't hang out anymore? What if this is just a really bad idea and something happens and we stop being friends?" I'm on the verge of tears again, and I hate myself for being so stupid and overemotional.

Adam slides down off the couch. "Hey, Maggs, it's okay," he says gently, giving me a hug. He breaks into a broad smile. "I'll help you practice with the kissing thing."

I smile through my almost-tears. "Thanks, Ads, but no thanks."

He pretends to be offended. "Are you telling me you'd rather make out with Averman than me?"

"That's exactly what she's saying, Einstein," Fulton retorts.

Dean holds his hands up. "Whoa, wait. Maggie, trust me," he says. "I've seen these guys in the locker room. Neither one of them are worth making out with."

Now I think Adam really _is_ offended. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. "I'm fucking hot."

I look at him like he has the word "idiot" stamped on his forehead. "No," I disagree. "You're just Adam."

"And you're just Maggie," he throws back.

I dismiss him with a "Whatever," and grab the Playstation controller back from Fulton. "I'm way prettier than you. Now let's play some golf, okay?"

"What are you going to do about Averman?" Fulton asks me.

I shrug. "I'm playing as Justin Timberlake," I tell the guys, ignoring the question.

Fulton kicks me lightly in the back. "You gonna answer me?"

I turn around. "I'll figure something out, okay?" I tell him. I turn back to face the TV and settle myself in the beanbag. "I always do."


	7. What would we be without wishful thinkin...

**A/N:** First of all, thank you so much for your reviews! SugarStace, I'm glad you like the direction I took things instead of having them start dating right away. The whole dating thing can be kind of scary if you've never done it before, and I just tried to remember how unbelievably stupid I was when I first entered the dating scene.   
This chapter is kinda short, so I'm sorry for that, but the next one will be awesometastic, I can promise you.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _The Mighty Ducks_, but if Disney wants to give them a day pass, I'll take 'em. I do own Maggie and her ginormous crush on Averman, and I'd love owning Matt Doherty. Just for a little bit, I promise. This is all for fun; don't sue!

* * *

When I wake up a couple days later to find Charlie sitting at the foot of my bed, my first thought is that I need to start locking my bedroom door at night. My second thought is that I hate my brother.

"I'm sleeping," I inform him, rolling over to face the wall. "Leave me alone."

Charlie has never listened to what I say before; why should he start now? "What's going on with you?" he asks my back.

"Um." I pretend to think about it for a second. "I don't know, I'm tired?"

Apparently, he doesn't care. "You've been weird for the past two days."

"So?" I ask. "You've been weird your whole life. Do you hear me complaining?"

"Fulton says you won't even answer your phone."

"That's not true!" I protest. "I answered my phone yesterday!" Of course, I only answered it when I saw that it was Dwayne calling, not Fulton. I decide Charlie doesn't really need to know that.

"Not when Fulton called, you didn't," Charlie responds.

I kick my leg out, not stopping until it connects with what I assume to be my brother's body. "Get out of my room," I order. "I want to go back to sleep."

"That's another thing," Charlie says. "You snore like a banshee."

I _really_ hate my brother. "I have allergies, okay? At least I don't talk in my sleep."

"I haven't done that in months!"

"And I only snore when I'm sick or the pollen count is high."

We argue for a few more minutes until Charlie decides, "This is stupid. I only came in here because I told Fulton and Averman that I'd try to find out what was going on with you."

"Nothing is going on," I insist. I roll over and face him. "What did they tell you?"

He shrugs. "Averman won't tell me anything, just that I should have you call him."

Terrific. "And Fulton?"

"Fulton says that you're being stupid and he's right. About what, I don't know, but that's what he says."

I pull my blanket up over my head. "I just want to disappear," I say aloud. I peek over the top of the blanket. "Great," I moan when I see Charlie still sitting there. "You're still here."

"Come on," he urges, pulling my blanket away from me. "Get up. You can't avoid everybody forever."

Actually, I was thinking of doing just that. I've spent the past two days holed up in my room, listening to melancholy music and doing some hardcore thinking. The only times I left were to use the bathroom and get food, and once return a movie to the video store. I haven't answered the phone, except when Dwayne called, and I haven't answered the door, unless it was my mom. And I have to admit, it's been kind of nice.

Charlie gets up and opens my top dresser drawer, and it occurs to me how much I really don't want my brother looking at my underwear. He looks at me. "How come your sock drawer is the neatest part of your room?"

I throw a pillow at him, which he manages to avoid. It hits the dresser and knocks over a framed picture of the Ducks, taken after the Goodwill Games. "It bothers me when my socks don't match."

A pair of socks hits me in the face. "That's the only thing in this drawer I'm touching," Charlie says, as he walks out of my room. "Now get up and get dressed."

I salute him, mockingly. "Yes, drill sergeant!"

Since I'm now wide awake, I decide I might as well start my day. I grab the socks that Charlie threw at me, a bra and a clean pair of underwear, and my standard uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. I shift everything to one hand, and, with my free hand, grab a CD from on top of my stereo.

"Not Pantera!" Charlie yells from his room.

"A little respect for the dead, huh?" I ask him as I shut the bathroom door behind me. I should have grabbed Pantera, I think. I turn on the shower and let the water heat up, remembering the first time Charlie asked me about them, four years ago.

_"Maggie, you've got to help me," he said._

_"Why?"_

_"What do you know about Pantera?"_

_"Eh," I replied with a shrug of my shoulders, "they're okay. They're a little too heavy for my taste, but the singer's got a pretty sweet voice. Why are you so interested in them all of a sudden?"_

_He looked sheepish as he answered. "I was talking to this girl at the bus stop today..."_

I pop open the CD player Charlie and I keep in the bathroom and insert my disc. I press play as I step into the shower, closing my eyes as the hot water hits my back. Some people love to take baths. They love to soak in the tub until all their stress and worries melt away. That's how they unwind. Julie even gives Connie and me homemade bubble bath every Christmas. I, however, am a shower person. It only takes me about ten minutes to get clean, and that's if I shave my legs, but I can use up all the hot water, if I have time. That's where I do all my thinking, while the water is hitting my back and loosening up my muscles. That's where I wake up at the beginning of the day and relax at the end of it.

"She ran up into the light, surprised. / Her arms are open/ Her mind's eye is / Seeing things from a better side than most can dream / On a better road I feel/ Oh, you could say she's safe," I sing along with the music. "Whatever tears at her, whatever pulls her down/ And if nothing can be done/ She'll make the best of what's around."

After rinsing my hair, I shut off the water and step out of the shower. I dry myself off, then wrap the towel around my head, turban-style, while I get dressed. I've never understood the girls that need two towels. I always dry my hair as best as I can, then dry the rest of me, and then wrap my hair up. One towel is really all you need.

I continue to sing along as I brush my teeth. "Every dog has its day. / Every day has its way of being forgotten. / Mom, it's my birthday!" I spit and rinse before shutting off the stereo, scooping up my PJs on my way out the door.

There's a Post-It on my door, covered with Charlie's chicken scratch. _Maggs -- Went over to Banksie's. Plenty of BEER so we can PARTY. Everyone's there, just waiting on you. Later -- C._

I'm sure most girls my age would love to party with a bunch of eighteen-year-old hockey players. Actually, I know they would. There were these two girls my English class last year who wouldn't shut up about how hot Fulton and Portman are, and since I was always hanging around them, was I dating one of them? And since I wasn't dating either of them, could I fix them up? And since I couldn't do that, could I at least let them tag along when we all hung out? I quickly grew to hate those girls -- it was almost enough to make me wish that I had friends of my own.

I'm not ready to face everyone -- okay, just Averman and Fulton -- yet, especially not if they're all going to be drinking. I grab my keys, then decide to walk, and put them back. Since everyone's over at Adam's, I decide to head in the opposite direction. I walk the three blocks to the park and station myself on the swings, my usual seat.

I can't have been here for more than ten minutes before Fulton appears in the swing next to me. "What are you doing here by yourself?"

Avoiding you. "Thinking."

"About how wrong you are?"

Could we not talk about this? "Maybe."

"About how stupid you're being?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up. "Maybe."

"About how you're starting to sound like a broken record?"

"Fulton --"

"What?" He's defensive now, like I'm about to verbally attack him. "He likes you, you like him, but you aren't together? Correct me if I'm wrong, but that seems A: wrong, and B: stupid."

He's right, so I don't say anything for a minute. "I'm scared of messing things up," I admit.

He looks at me. "I know," he says. "Dating can be scary."

I nod. "Especially if you've never done it before."

We sit in a comfortable silence for a while, and this is something I'm used to. The great thing about hanging out with the Bash Brothers is how they don't feel the need to fill silences with what Portman calls "useless conversation." The other great thing about them is that with the Bashes, you always know where you stand. Dean _hated _Fulton at first, and he made it no secret that he didn't like me, either. He didn't understand why Fulton would hang out with a ten-year-old girl, especially when I didn't even play hockey. Eventually, he came around, and since the Bash Brothers are always together, and Fulton is my best friend, Dean had no choice but to accept me, too.

Fulton stands and stretches. "There's a party going on," he tells me.

I stand up, too. "At Banks's? I know."

He starts to walk away, like he expects me to follow. "So, you're coming, right?"

I realize that it would be useless to protest. As he's pointed out many, many times, Fulton is bigger than I am, so it's usually easier to just go along with what he says. Not that I think he would ever, _ever_ hit a girl, but still. The Bash Brothers _are_ known for their strength. I follow him with a sigh. "Right."


	8. You were just being yourself, being nice

**A/N:** First of all, thank you so much for your reviews. Love y'all.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, okay? Unfortunately.

* * *

Even though it's barely past noon, the party is in full swing by the time we arrive at Adam's place. Connie and Guy are making out in Mr. Banks's easy chair, completely oblivious to everyone else. Luis and Goldberg are having a spirited discussion about...something. Looking through the doorway into the kitchen, I can see Julie, Charlie, Averman, and Adam playing quarters. I turn to Fulton. "Where's Portman?"

"Out back," he responds. "Where we should be." He takes my arm and leads me into the kitchen.

Charlie sees me first. "Maggie!" he exclaims, jumping up to give me a hug. He smells like Bacardi, and I can see from the empty shotglasses lining the counter that the liquor cabinet has definitely been broken into. "It's about time!"

"You guys started drinking way too early," I tell him, making a face as I push him off of me. I look at the others seated around the table. "Hey, guys. Um, Averman," I greet them with a nod.

Averman smiles, and Good God Almighty, I'm getting the butterflies again. "Hey, Maggie," he says. "Hey, I need to talk to you, okay?"

I sigh inwardly. I should have known I couldn't put it off forever. "Yeah, that's cool," I answer. "Uh, find me later," I call over my shoulder as Fulton drags me through the back door and onto the porch.

Dean looks at us as we pop through the door. "It's about fucking time," he says, taking a long drag off a joint. "I thought I was going to have to smoke this thing all by myself." He offers the joint to Fulton, who takes two hits off it before passing it to me.

"Thanks," I say. I hit the joint hard, coughing as the smoke fills my lungs. On my second hit, I'm able to hold it longer, and I don't even cough as I exhale.

"So, have you figured out what you're going to do?" Dean asks me as I pass him the joint. "I mean, about Averman?"

I shake my head. "We're supposed to talk later, though." I take another hit off the joint as it makes its way back around. "I think things are going to work out tonight."

"Really?" Fulton sounds more surprised than I'd like him to be.

"Yeah, you going to finally hook up?"

I hit the joint one last time, nodding as I put it out against the porch railing. "I hope so. I'm going to put it all on the line and try not to mess it up this time." I'm pretty stoned by now, and I tell them that. "Guys, I'm stupid now."

Portman opens the back door. "You need a beer, then," he decides, ushering us inside.

No, actually, the last thing I need is a beer. If I drink and smoke at the same time, I get incredibly wasted, and I don't want that to happen if I'm going to talk to Averman later. I ignore my better judgment and take a sip as a cup is thrust into my hand.

Julie and Adam have wandered off into the living room, and Charlie quickly recruits Fulton and Dean to play quarters with him. "Maggie, you can play, too," he insists. "Averman says he's done."

"No, thanks." The Bashes have claimed the two available chairs, and there aren't any others in sight. "I don't have a place to sit."

Fulton winks at me. "You can sit on Averman's lap."

Hey, thanks. I give Averman an apologetic smile as he scoots his chair out from the table. "Thank you," I mumble as I sit down.

I think this might be the closest I've ever been to him in my whole life, and I love it. I lean against his chest, focusing on the feel of his heartbeat against my back, and I don't even notice that Portman has bounced a quarter into his cup until he's telling me to drink. He makes it in again, making Fulton drink. On his third bounce, he misses and passes the quarter to Charlie.

By the time it's my turn, I know I've got too much beer in my system to bounce the quarter into my cup. I attempt it anyway and fail miserably, draining the rest of my beer as I slide the quarter back over to Portman.

"I'm done," I announce, three rounds and four beers later. I stand up too quickly, swaying slightly, and have to hold onto the table to steady myself. I turn to look at Averman. "You wanted to talk, right?"

He looks at me and blinks behind his glasses, like he's trying to decide whether or not this is a good idea. Better judgment must be working against him, too, because he nods in agreement and follows me out of the kitchen.

I'm nervous again, as we walk through the living room, and I think that maybe this isn't good. I interrupt Goldberg and Luis to ask if they can do me the hugest favor in the world by grabbing me another drink. Goldberg does, and whispers a "Good luck" as he hands me the cup. I wonder, momentarily, if everybody knows about our non-relationship, but don't have time to dwell on the matter. Averman is looking at me, beckoning me to come closer, to follow him. And I do. I always will.

We end up alone in a guest bathroom. I down my beer and the nervousness goes away. It's replaced with a slight feeling of nausea, which abates as soon as I sit down on the floor. Beer is for bravery, I think. Oh, great. I'm hammered. I open my mouth to speak. "Leeeester," I sing, drawing out the first syllable. "Les. Aaaveeermaaan." I speak slowly and deliberately, trying not to slur my words. An old seventies song pops into my head and I hum it to myself, stopping as soon as I realize what, exactly, I'm humming. The Partridge Family. "I Think I Love You." Great. I open my mouth again, and it occurs to me that I have little control over the sounds coming out. "You know who you used to remind me of, when you talked? Pauly Shore." I try to imitate him. "The Conniemeister. The Velvet Hammer."

"Maggie," he interrupts.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," I giggle. Note to self: _Never_ drink again.

"Maggie," he says again. He sounds impatient this time, and it's enough to make me shut up and listen. "You've been avoiding me lately." It's not a question, though his voice rises slightly at the end.

"I was thinking," I say in response.

"About us?" When I answer in the affirmative, he asks, "Did you figure it out? I mean, what you want to do?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, desperately wishing I had another beer. For bravery. I clench my hands into fists at my side and unclench them. "I think," I begin, my eyes still closed, "that you should kiss me now, before I lose my nerve." I open one eye, slightly, to sneak a peek at his reaction.

I can't quite tell, because I'm squinting and I can only see out of one eye, but I think he looks slightly stunned. His hand goes to his face, and I think he's turning away.

I open my eyes. "What's wrong?" I suck my lower lip into my mouth and start to chew on it. "What did I do wrong?"

"You're drunk," he replies, after a long pause. I can't tell if he's saying this because it's true or because it's a problem. I can't help feeling it's both.

I lean against the wall. "There is something I can--" I stop, thinking, and start over. "There is _nothing_ I can do about that now," I correct. I close my eyes again and wait for his response.

I can feel him staring at me for what, in my drunken state, feels like forever. "I don't want you to do this because you've been drinking," he finally says.

"That's not why!" My eyes snap open again. "You know it's...I told you three days ago and you _know_ that's how I feel!"

"Then why didn't you want to talk to me before today?"

"I told you; I was thinking."

"And drinking," I can hear him mutter.

"That's not...you're not being fair," I protest.

"Look," he apologizes, "I'm sorry." He slides down against the wall until he's sitting on the ground next to me. "I'm sorry, okay? Come here."

I lean into him as his arm goes around my shoulders. "This is what I wanted," I whisper.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

"One more day," he tells me. "Wait one more day, okay? I'll call you tomorrow and we'll talk."

Arguing would do me no good, I realize, so I give in and agree. Averman stands up, and I watch him walk out of the bathroom.

I think that there's nobody in the world as stupid as I am. That was the second time I almost had him, and, because I'm an absolute moron, the second time I lost him. In this moment, I'm more than thankful that I'm sitting on the ground, because I'm hit with a sudden wave of nausea. It takes everything I have just to lift the toilet seat so I can vomit. I swear to myself that I'm never drinking again -- well, at least not until I'm old enough, anyway. I pick up my phone and check the time. Four-thirty. Four-thirty in the afternoon, and I'm wasted. I hit my speed-dial.

"Hello?"

"Fulton, hey."

"Where are you?"

I have to glance around, because it's only taken me two minutes to forget my surroundings. "In the bathroom."

"At Banksie's?"

I nod.

"Maggie?"

"Yes. I was nodding."

"Good thing you said something," he teases. "I couldn't hear your head rattle."

I make a face. "You're mean."

"Sorry, but you're drunk dialing me from inside the same house that I'm in."

"Come get me," I plead.

"You okay?"

Well, let me think about that for a minute. Let's see: I'm completely smashed, I got rejected by the boy of my dreams, and I'm puking in someone else's toilet. "Yeah, I'm fine," I manage to say, before I'm sick again. I can hear him telling Portman he'll be right back; he has to go check on me. "Bring Portman, too," I request.

"We'll be there in a couple minutes," he answers before hanging up.

"Thank you," I say to the dial tone.


	9. And when I touch you I feel happy inside

Most girls, I'm sure, would be thrilled to wake up sharing a sofa with a shirtless Dean Portman, but for me? It's nothing short of sweaty and gross, and as I realize I'm not sure where I am, it's kind of creepy, too. And my eyes hurt, which means I fell asleep with my contacts in. Again. I blink rapidly, trying to produce tears, and it helps, a little. I need some Visine, but since I have no idea whose house I woke up in, I'm not sure where the nearest medicine cabinet is.

"Dean," I whisper, nudging him, but instead of waking up, Dean just flops his arm over my hip. I'm vaguely uncomfortable. "Portman," I whisper a little louder, trying to rouse him.

His response is to pull me closer, mumbling a name -- who's Sarah? Oh, great. We're spooning.

And -- oh, great. And he kind of likes it, I think. Gross.

"Portman!" I shove him, throwing my entire weight into it, and barely succeed in lifting his arm. "You're spooning with me!"

"Am not," he replies, only half awake, but fully indignant.

"Are too. You called me Sarah."

"Oh, _please_ stop talking."

"Where are we?" I ask. "This isn't Adam's house."

Dean groans and closes his eyes. "We're at Goldberg's, remember? Now will you let me sleep?"

I check my phone to see what time it is. Not even eleven yet. I don't have to be home for another two hours -- which, since I didn't drive either to Adam's or Greg's, is probably about how long it will take me to walk home. I instinctively hit the redial button, trying to reach Fulton for a ride, as I climb over Portman and try to find my flip-flops.

"Hello?" Averman sounds so cute when he's sleepy.

Wait a minute. I want Fulton, I was trying to call Fulton, why is Averman answering Fulton's phone? I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it, but see Averman's number on the display. I can't for the life of me remember why I called him in the first place. Note to self: Never, _ever_ drink again.

On the other end of the line, Averman yawns. "Hello?" he says again.

I wonder, for a brief moment, if it's too late for me to hang up without saying anything. I could just call Fulton and get a lift home, and pretend this never happened.

"Maggie." He sounds exasperated. "I know it's you. Caller ID, remember?"

Oh. Right. "Hey, um, sorry. I was trying to reach Fulton, and I guess I just hit the wrong button or something. Did I wake you up?"

_Did I wake you up?_ Of course I did, idiot!

"Um, yeah," he says through another yawn, "but it's okay. Where are you? Goldberg's?"

How does everyone except me know where I am? "Yeah," I reply. I swallow, and realize my mouth feels fuzzy, and I still need eye drops. "Uh, this is going to sound really stupid, but how did I get here?" I ask, blindly making my way to the bathroom. I wince against the brightness as I turn on the light, listening to Averman explain that the party got moved to Goldberg's when Adam's dad got home and kicked us out, threatening to call our parents if he found any damage to his property. I open the medicine cabinet -- jackpot! Visine and mouthwash. I feel human again, and with Averman's voice in my ear, I feel that strange nervous excitement. And out of nowhere, I can feel my resolve gathering.

I open my mouth and ask, before I think too much about it, "Can I come over?" The moment the words are out of my mouth, I close my eyes and slump against the bathroom door, bracing myself for the rejection that I am sure is to come.

"Uh, yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll meet you by the back door."

I hang up without so much as a goodbye, because if I think too much about this, I will lose my nerve. I gargle some more mouthwash and fix my ponytail, which had come loose in my sleep. After I deem myself presentable, I let myself out of the house, and, while texting Dean to let him know where I went, cross through the Goldbergs' backyard to Averman's, two houses down.

He's waiting at the back door, as promised, and he looks absolutely incredible, standing there in the doorway in a pair of flannel pajama pants -- and it doesn't matter how many times I've seen him shirtless, it will never, ever get old. I have to force myself to keep my eyes trained on his face, or else I'll think too much about whether or not he's wearing anything under his pajama bottoms, and focusing on that makes it impossible for me to think about anything else at all.

In my head, I'm practicing how I'm going to lay it all out on the line for him, but what I say now is, "Can we go inside? I, uh, I'm sober now, and I have something I need to say to you." I feel so brave, and I'm not quite sure where it comes from, but I'm grateful for it.

Wordlessly, Les takes my hand and leads me inside, through the kitchen and into his room, where he shuts the door. It's just him and me, and it's so quiet and if I stop to think I get scared, so I take a deep breath and start talking.

"You are the only guy I've ever so much as _thought_ about," I tell him, looking at my lap the entire time. "I've wanted you for seven years. Seven _years_, Averman, and I've thought about you so much and for so long and I think I've just built up this huge fantasy in my head of how it could be, and I know it's way better than anything that could happen for real, but I think we could come pretty close, if we try, and I want to." I pause long enough to draw in another breath before finishing. "And I really, _really_ want to kiss you right now, but I've never kissed anyone before and I'm afraid I might be bad at it."

I look up, and as soon as our eyes meet, we're leaning towards each other and he's kissing me and oh, my _God_, I'm kissing Les Averman and it's more perfect than anything I ever could have imagined. I rest my hand on my stomach, trying to calm the fluttering occurring just beneath the surface of my skin, and Averman pulls away.

"Are you okay?" he gently asks, taking my other hand in his. "Was that okay?"

I shake my head, dazed. "Incredible," I whisper. I clear my throat. "I'm, um, my stomach," I try to explain. "It's doing this flippy thing."

Averman grins, kisses me again. "Butterflies," he says against my lips.

"Like, a million of them," I murmur back. "Was I okay?"

"You," he pronounces, "are exactly as fantastic as I thought you'd be."

He pulls me into his arms and I snuggle against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Don't let me fall asleep, okay? I have to be home by one."

He doesn't answer for a minute, and I think maybe he's fallen asleep. "Why don't I," he says at last, "give you a ride home, and we can make out in my car until your curfew?"

I am already up and tossing him a shirt from on top of his dresser. On the way to my house, I am positively giddy at the thought of doing nothing but kissing Averman for the next hour and a half, but somehowhave enough presence of mind to text Portman, so that when he wakes up, he won't think he lost me.

Kissing Averman, I decide while we're parked in my driveway, is my new favorite activity, one that I doubt I'll tire of any time soon. The only downside is that time flies by entirely too fast, and before I know it, it's one in the morning. I'm able to tear myself away only because I know that if I miss my curfew, it will be entirely too long before I'm able to kiss him again.

"I have to go inside," I whisper in between kisses, "before I get in trouble."

"I know," Averman whispers back. He leans back, brushes back a strand of hair that's come loose from my ponytail, tucks it behind my ear. "But I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay? Do you have anything going on?"

I shake my head. "What about you?"

It's his turn to shake his head. "Do you want to go out for breakfast?"

"Can we make it brunch?" I ask. "That way I can sleep in."

"We can do whatever you want," Les responds. He leans down and kisses me again, and I really think that I could do this for the rest of forever and not get bored. "Call me when you wake up."

I reluctantly pull myself away and step out of the car. I start to head up towards the house, turning around when I hear Averman call my name. "Come back for a sec."

I jog over to his side of the car, where he's got his head sticking out the window.

He reaches an arm out and pulls my head down to his, kissing me one last time. "One for the road," he explains. "Goodnight."

"'Night," I say, beaming at him as he backs out of the driveway and onto the street. I wave and stand there watching his taillights get smaller and smaller in the night. When I can't see them anymore, I go inside the house and fall into bed, barely taking the time to change into my pajamas.

I know I'm only sixteen, but I really think this was the best night of my life.


	10. You could taste heaven perfectly

"He said that I was --" I frown, trying to remember it exactly. "Exactly as perfect as he thought I'd be. That means he thought about kissing me before," I tell Julie. She and Connie have agreed to help me get ready for my brunch with Averman. Now that we're definitely on, I feel a certain desire to want him to _want_ me when he sees me, but I keep second-guessing myself -- realizing I needed help only after I've tried on the entire contents of my closet. Twice. If I hadn't called for backup, I wouldn't be ready until dinnertime. "Oh! That means he thought about kissing me, and it was _good_."

Connie smiles. "I remember the first time Guy kissed me. Butterflies like you wouldn't believe!"

"That's the best part, though," I tell her happily. The truth is, all I have to do is think about kissing Averman, and my stomach fills with butterflies. It's the sweetest rush, and it's made my face break out in a smile so often that my cheeks are starting to hurt. "I love that flippy feeling my stomach gets."

Julie, who is busy treating me like her My Size Barbie and is doing my makeup, nods. "That's how I felt when I used to kiss Adam." She pauses, thoughtful. "And Dean, too."

"Charlie never really did it for you, huh?" Connie teases.

Julie grins. "Well, I figured Maggie didn't want to hear about how her brother used to make me feel all tingly." Her face turns serious for a minute. "Um, Maggie," she says hesitantly, "I have something I should tell you, and I don't want you to get mad, because it's not really a big deal -- I mean, actually, it's not any sort of deal at all, but --"

I roll my eyes. If I don't interrupt Julie now, we could seriously be here all day, and I really just want to finish getting ready so I can see Averman again. "Julie. What?"

"I kissed Averman," she admits. My surprise must be evident on my face, because she quickly adds, "Forever ago, I swear! And it didn't mean anything, to either of us -- and Connie's kissed him before, too!"

My eyes dart back and forth between Connie and Julie, uncertain.

Connie rolls her eyes. "_First_ of all, I kissed him one time during a game of Spin the Bottle when we were, like, thirteen," she clarifies. "And don't worry, Maggs, because Julie has kissed Fulton, Dwayne, Ken, _and_ Luis, and none of them meant anything, either."

Julie nods emphatically. "It's like a pattern I had," she explains. "You know, break up with Adam, get drunk and make out with Luis. Break up with Dean, kiss Kenny. Break up with Charlie, make out with the Bash Brothers. Break up with Dean again --"

"I get it. You've kissed all the Ducks."

Connie snorts. "She hasn't kissed me."

"I'm from Maine, Cons; we're conservative," Julie teases. "You're not mad, are you?" she asks me.

I shake my head. "No, but I'm going to have fun messing with Averman when I see him." I stand up to change into the outfit Connie's picked out for me, a blush-colored skirt with tiny maroon polka dots, paired with a lacy white tank top underneath a short maroon racer-back tank top. "You're sure it didn't mean anything?" I pull my hair back into a bun and secure it with two ballpoint pens.

Julie raises her left hand, places her right one over her heart. "I swear it," she affirms.

"Then…all is forgiven," I say with a smile. I walk over to my open closet and study the contents, frowning. "Guys? Shoes?"

While they're arguing over which shoes I should wear, I dig through the clutter on the desk, trying to find my glasses. I'm giving my eyes a break today, since I forgot to take my contacts out when I got home -- again. I finally find them as Connie emerges from the closet, a pair of macramé wedges in hand.

"Ooh, I forgot how cute you look with glasses," she exclaims, handing me the shoes.

"Maybe just this pair," I say, because these really are cute frames -- small black rectangular Kenneth Coles that I secretly refer to as my Sexy Librarian Glasses.

I slide the shoes on and do a three-sixty. "What's the verdict?"

"You," Julie proclaims, giving me a hug, "are irresistible."

The three of us head downstairs and find Charlie in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and drinking milk straight out of the carton. Boys, I'm telling you, can be really gross.

"You guys ready to go play some hockey?" he asks, putting the milk away.

"I'll see you later," I tell the girls, trying to make my way to the back door without being noticed.

No such luck. "Maggie," Charlie says, "where are you going in a _skirt_?"

I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. So close. So, so close. "Um." I swallow. "Brunch?"

"Like, a _date_?"

I shrug. "Like…brunch."

"Look at me," he demands, and when I do, he continues. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that I saw you making out with Averman in his car last night?"

"Were you _spying_ on me?"

"I looked out my window around one to make sure you didn't miss curfew, and it didn't look like you were trying to hide. So, what, are you guys dating now?"

My brother is the last person in the entire world that I want to have this conversation with right now. "I -- you -- I'm going to be late," I stammer as I open the door. I practically sprint to my car and drive as fast as I legally can over to Stillwater, where Averman and I have agreed to meet at Lily's Grill & Malt Shop. Fulton introduced me to the place, and now I'm addicted to Lily's patty melts and smoothies.

Averman looks so _good_ sitting there in the booth, so happy and gorgeous and _mine_, and I can feel a smile stretch my lips as I sit down across from him. "Hey," I greet him.

"Hey, _you_," he replies. "Check out the specs! You look like a sexy schoolteacher." He grins widely at me.

"Librarian," I correct him, mentally thanking Connie and Julie for their aid this morning.

"Sure," Les replies with a half-shrug. "Sexy librarian. Oh, hey, check this out." He pulls his phone from his pocket, punches a few buttons, and holds it out for me to see. On the screen is a text message from Charlie that reads, _"b nice to my sister or ill sic the bash brothers on you."_

I sigh loudly, exasperated, and shake my head. "You are so lucky," I tell him, "that you're an only child."

Another half-shrug as he puts the phone away. "He cares about you; it's nice. Besides, Fulton wouldn't beat me up unless you told him to." A slightly worried look crosses his face as he adds, "So, uh, if we ever break up -- don't tell him to." He reaches out and laces his fingers through mine, then leans across the table to give me a quick kiss.

Inside, I am singing. He said "if we ever break up," which means he doesn't think that's likely to happen in the foreseeable future, which means he really, really does like me. I think. I make a mental note to pull Julie Gaffney, Expert on All Things Boys, aside later today to make sure I'm correct in my overanalysis.

"You ready to order?" our server asks, startling us both and making us jump apart. We each lean back on our respective sides of the booth, hands still clasped, while I order a four-berry smoothie for myself. Averman orders himself a cup of coffee, and we agree to split a large order of Lily's gourmet fries.

"You have to promise you won't let me eat all the fries," I warn him as our food arrives.

Les eyes the heaping plate in front of us. "Is that seriously something I need to worry about?" he asks dubiously. "I don't even think Goldberg could eat an order of these by himself."

"Les," I say, patiently. "You've seen me eat. And these fries," I add, reaching for one and dipping it in a ramekin of ketchup, "are my weakness." I'm not kidding. Crispy golden-brown French fries, topped with cheddar, bacon, and ranch, are my favorite thing on the menu at Lily's, and I have been known to eat an entire order of gourmet fries by myself.

We share the fries evenly and polish off our beverages. I open my purse and start to pull out my wallet, when Averman stops me.

"I got it," he says. He slaps a ten down on top of the check.

I shrug. Fine by me, if he wants to pay, except he's only left enough to cover the food, and if there is one thing that my mother has instilled in her children, it's the importance of tipping your server. I pull a five out of my wallet and place it next to his money. "I'll cover the tip, then," I say.

He grins. "Next time, you treat me," he teases, "and I'll pick up the tip, deal?"

"Deal."

He picks up the check and the ten dollar bill, leaving the tip on the table. Together, hand in hand, we walk to the register at the front to pay. Out in the parking lot, I lean back against my car, pulling Les to me and wrapping my arms around his waist. He leans down and kisses me, one hand making its way to the back of my neck, and I can feel the butterflies again, warm and fluttery and low in my stomach.

"We should get going," he says as he pulls away. His hand moves down from my neck to rest on my shoulder. "I told Charlie I'd be at the park by one-thirty, and I still have to stop back by my house because I forgot my skates."

"I'll meet you there," I tell him, reluctant to let go of his waist.

Averman, noticing this, leans into me, bracing himself against the car, his elbows on either side of my head. "I'd rather keep doing this," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"Is this as good as it was with Julie?" I'm careful to keep my tone light, so he knows I'm only teasing. The last thing I want right now is to piss off my new boyfriend.

"Better," he answers. Smiling. "Better than any of them."

Wait a minute. Better than who? Who else has he been kissing? I struggle to keep my voice the same, light and airy. "Any of the other Ducks?"

"Maggie," he says. "Baby. I've kissed other girls. Not recently, and definitely not in the last twenty-four hours, but I have. I'm not going to apologize for it, because we weren't together at the time, and they all happened way before I ever knew how you felt about me. Or how I felt about you."

I can feel my lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout, and it takes a great deal of effort to make my face appear unconcerned. "But it wasn't as good with them as it is with me, right?" I ask. I'm starting to feel a little insecure. No wonder Averman's such an amazing kisser. He's had practice. Kissing me, with virtually no experience to speak of, has to pale in comparison.

He brushes his lips against mine. "They weren't you," he says simply, and those three words are all it takes to cause the butterflies in my stomach to come rushing, fluttering back. He untangles himself from me and kisses me one more time. "I'll meet you at the park, okay?" he asks, heading towards his car.

"See you there." I climb in the car and pull out of the lot, waving at Averman as I pass him at his car. Pulling out on the street, I flip open my phone and hit number 3 on my speed dial, calling Fulton.

"Fulton," I say when he answers, in lieu of hello. "Oh, my God. I am having the best day _ever_."

"I figured, when Portman told me Averman took you home last night. So you finally manned up and made a move, huh?"

"Oh, Fulton, dude. You should have seen me. I just went over there, told him that I wanted to be with him, and it worked! God, I was so freaked out over nothing."

"You know what that means, right? You have to say it."

Oh, man. "Nope. Not gonna."

"Maggs, you've got to."

"No fucking way."

"You _have_ to, dude. I'd do it if it were the other way around."

"Fulton. When has it ever been the other way around?"

"Right, but my point is, I _would_ do it, if I had to."

I sigh and mumble into the mouthpiece of my phone.

Fulton sighs, and I can picture him on the other end, eyes rolling heavenward. "I can't hear you, Spazway," he says.

"You told me so," I repeat, more clearly this time.

"I did, didn't I?" Damn, but he sounds smug. "Are you hanging out today?"

"Yeah," I say, as I pull into the park. I can see him standing off to the side, his back to me. "And I'm totally about to run you over."

He turns around and flips me off as I park next to him, but as soon as I'm out of the car, his arms are embracing me in a sweaty bear hug. "Dude, Maggie, I'm proud of you."

"Dude, Fulton, thanks," I tease, mimicking his tone. "Does everybody else know?" I wonder aloud.

"I haven't said anything to anybody but Portman," Fulton replies, throwing his hands up in the air in a gesture of mock-surrender.

As we walk across the lot, I hear a low wolf whistle. "Looking good, _mamacita_," Luis calls. "Like, a naughty teacher, right?"

I grin, shake my head, strike a pose. "Mr. Mendoza," I call back, "please see me after class!"

"Luis," I hear Averman yell out, "quit hitting on my girl, okay?" I turn around to see him getting out of his car, rollerblades in one hand, an equipment bag in the other.

"I guess," Fulton nudges me with his elbow, "they know now."

I roll my eyes and pause mid-step, allowing Averman to catch up with us. "Hey, you," I say.

He kisses me, and I think he must have forgotten we're in the middle of a public park in full view of an audience, because there is nothing chaste about this kiss. It's long, slow and steamy, and there is most definitely tongue involved. Not, of course, that I'm complaining. He doesn't pull away until Luis whistles again. Guy and Adam are applauding. Charlie, I note, is standing there, arms crossed, looking very Concerned Big Brother. "Hey," he says, and it looks like he's trying to catch his breath.

Jeez-oh-man. A girl could _definitely_ get used to this. I mean, I get that he's being all macho and territorial and everything, and it's obviously getting to Charlie, which means I'm going to hear all about it later, but I love the, uh, physical attention I'm receiving.

Fulton clears his throat. "Dude," he says, lightly shoving Averman, "get a fucking room."

Portman skates up, circles us a few times. "Dudes, come on. Let's play some hockey." Lingering behind as the others take off, he looks at me. "It's weird, you know? 'Cause sometimes I still think of you as this bratty little kid tagging along, like, everybody's kid sister. And then I see you now, looking all hot and kissing boys, and I realize you're not a kid anymore. But you're still like my kid sister. Like, I should protect you? So, just, if you ever need help or anything, let me know. Me and Fulton, we got you."

I smile, wide and bright, touched. That is, I think, about the nicest thing I've ever heard. And from a Bash Brother, no less. "Aw, Dean, thank you." I glance at Averman, tugging on his rollerblades and taking a swig of Gatorade. His eyes meet mine. He smiles at me, and for the billionth time, I could just _die_. The butterflies in my stomach, my new best friends, start fluttering again. I place my hand over my abdomen and turn back to Dean, grinning.

"Welcome." He looks slightly uncomfortable, out of his element, and quickly shrugs it off. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna go play." He skates off, over to Fulton and Charlie, who call the others together in a huddle.

I settle myself on a swing to enjoy watching my boyfriend -- my _boyfriend_! -- play hockey, and think that nothing in the world could be better than my life, right now.


	11. And if you care, don't let them know

"Fulton!" I call as I walk through the Reeds' front door.

"Den!" he calls back. "Bring me a beverage!"

I pop my head into the den and raise my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Fulton, sitting on the couch with an XBox controller in his hands, doesn't even glance up from the TV. "Bring me a beverage, for I am your king," he intones.

"Certainly, my liege," I reply with an eyeroll. I head to the kitchen and grab two sodas from the fridge. Back in the family room, I flop down next to Fulton.

"So." He nudges my knee with his. "Where's Loverboy?"

I can feel my cheeks flush. I have spent so long hiding my feelings for Averman that it feels kind of strange to have everything out in the open. I crack open my can of Sprite and take a swig. "He picked up a shift at the theater," I explain. "And I haven't really hung out with you in a couple days. I missed you, dude." I've spent the past couple days, when not with Averman, talking about him with Julie and Connie. I've never been particularly close with either of them - friendly, yes, but not close, not like I am with Fulton or Luis or even Russ - but they're the only other girls I really know, and I don't feel comfortable dishing about my relationship with any of the guys. Factor in the fact that I doubt Fulton wants to gossip about it with me, and that's why I've been MIA this week.

"Well, you're here now. Wanna shoot each other?"

I grab the other controller from where it's wedged in between the couch cushions and proceed to spend the next hour getting shot to death, like, a million times. I even manage, to my complete lack of surprise, to get my guy killed while Fulton is on the phone with Portman and paying more attention his conversation than the video game.

Fulton hangs up. "Portman's heading over. Got some smoke."

I nod, trying in vain to get my guy out from the rock he's trapped behind. "Maybe if I get high, I can actually beat you," I suggest as my army dude finally jumps free. I make him run towards Fulton's guy, shooting haphazardly, and fall down dead with a shot to the chest.

"Wouldn't count on it."

My phone rings, and I blush again when I check the call display. _It's my boyfriend!_ I sing to myself. "Hi," I say when I answer.

"Hey, baby," Averman says on the other end. "What're you doing?"

"Hanging out at Fulton's. Playing Call of Duty. Getting my ass kicked."

He laughs. "Sounds like fun. Listen, we're really dead around here, so I'm going to be leaving in about ten minutes. I just have to mop up in theater four and then I can go."

I hesitate. Everything I've ever read in Seventeen assures me that it's normal, in the beginning of a relationship, to want to spend every waking moment with your guy, so I'm not _too_ concerned about my borderline obsessive desire to be with Averman 24/7. I don't, however, want to totally neglect my friends - especially since I have so few of them. "I haven't really been here that long," I begin.

"We're all friends here," Fulton reminds me with a gentle elbow to my ribcage. "It's cool if you want to have him come over."

"But do you want to meet me over here when you get off?" I finish.

"Yeah, cool. You guys want popcorn?"

"Tell your boyfriend to bring some popcorn!" Fulton says.

"Yes, please. Butter and salt?"

Averman laughs again. "Sure, baby. I'll see you soon."

We say our goodbyes and hang up as Dean walks into the room. He fist bumps each of us in greeting. "What's up, dudes?"

"Averman's coming over," I beam. When I cannot actually be with Les, the most pleasurable alternative, for me, is talking about Les. I'm aware that others might find the subject less fascinating than I do, which is why I only talk about him with Julie and Connie, but I'm making an exception because I'm still excited that he's coming over to see _me._

"Right on," Dean replies. "Is he bringing popcorn?"

I roll my eyes towards the ceiling. "Guys, god, _yes_, he's bringing free food for your consumption."

"Hey, you're going to want some munchie food in about twenty minutes," Dean reminds me. He pulls out a joint and a lighter from his pocket and sparks it up. "So," he says as he takes the first hit. One eye is closed; the other is looking at me.

I narrow my eyes. "So...what?"

He passes the joint to me. "So you look totally giddy schoolgirl."

I hit the joint, coughing up a cloud of smoke as I exhale. "And?" I take another hit before passing to Fulton. I feel like I'm blushing again, but it could just be the pot hitting my system.

"Nah, it's cool. Happy Maggie beats Mopey Maggie by a fucking long shot."

"Thanks, I guess?"

Fulton shakes his head, coughing slightly. "He's right. You're way cooler this way. I don't want to slap as much sense into you when you're not being all sad puppy." He looks up as a knock sounds on the front door. "Come in!" he shouts.

"Hey!" I hear Averman call out. "Den?"

"Yeah!" Portman answers.

"Bring me a beverage, for I am your king!" Fulton bellows.

Averman takes a seat on the couch next to me. "Get real, Cake Eater." He drapes an arm over my shoulder and greets me with a light kiss. "It smells like a Phish concert in here," he adds as the joint comes his way.

I reach across him to take the joint from Dean. "Does it bother you that I smoke sometimes?" I ask him. It's not like I'm one of the burnouts at school that spend more time in the parking lot than in class. I get high at the occasional party, and every once in a while besides that when Portman is able to score a bag, but I'd wager that I only get stoned about a dozen times a year. I drink even less than that, and I don't smoke cigarettes, and I don't sneak out of my house, and I obey my mom, and I get okay grades, and I'm not having crazy sex and getting knocked up, so I figure that as far as teenage rebellion goes, I'm pretty tame.

Les shrugs. "You know it can really fuck up your game."

Portman, who has just shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, laughs so hard that he spits some popcorn right back out. "It can really fuck up your game, Spazway!" he echoes, laughing around a mouthful of food.

"I can barely walk and chew gum at the same time," I respond drily, "so that's not really a concern of mine."

"And...well, it can lower your sperm count."

I stare at him, blank faced. "Yeah, I don't have one of those, either."

Les smiles at me, slightly sheepish. "Right. Well, that's why I don't smoke." He brushes some hair back from my face before settling his arm around my shoulders again. "But what you do is what you do. It doesn't bother me."

I grin up at him and snuggle my head against his chest. "Thank you, baby."

He plants a kiss on the top of my head. "You're welcome, baby."

Dean groans. "You guys, shut up. You're making me want to go out and hunt down a fucking baby unicorn or something."

"Jealous," I tease, throwing a piece of popcorn at Portman's open mouth. I miss but nail it on the second attempt.

"Yeah, I'm really jealous of Averman. You're a four-eyed fucking ginger with freckles and you work at a movie theater, earning your weight in free popcorn."

Next to me, Fulton shakes with silent laughter.

"And I'm not jealous of you, either, Spazway," Dean continues. "You're, like, my stupid little sister, only you're not even related to me. You can't even skate!"

Fulton laughs out loud. "Okay, that was pretty weak. But you struck gold with Averman."

Portman hangs his head in mock dismay. He perks up when Fulton mentions my brother.

I freeze, a handful of popcorn midway to my mouth. Did I just hear what I think I did? "Charlie wants _what_, now?"

Fulton shrugs one shoulder and looks over at me. "It's not like we're gonna do it, Maggs. Have some faith."

I narrow my eyes and drop the popcorn, indignant. "I can't believe my brother wants you to spy on me!"

"It's not spying, _exactly_," Fulton clarifies, adding, when I shoot daggers at him with my eyes, "but it's pretty damn close."

I shake my head in disgust. "Whatever, he's asking you to keep an eye on me and make sure I'm not the only pregnant sophomore at Eden Hall, is what he's doing. He seriously thinks you're going to tell him what I'm doing when we hang out together? Tell him Les and I are all over each other, all the time. Tell him...tell him I let him get to third base on a regular basis, and it doesn't matter who's around. I just can't help myself," I add, sarcastic and angry.

"Really?" asks Portman, at the same time Averman is quickly disagreeing with my tactic.

"No, not really," I snap. "Don't tell him fucking anything, okay? We're not doing anything, but even if we were, it wouldn't be his business." My face feels hot, and I wish desperately that I was born an only child. Somewhere, deep underneath the rage and humiliation, I know that Charlie is only trying to keep me safe. The fact that he's being so underhanded about it is what has me seeing red.

"Settle," Fulton orders, pointing a finger. "You're our bro, Maggs. I already told Charlie he needed to trust you."

"It's me," Averman interjects, sounding uncomfortable. Well, and can you blame him? "He doesn't trust me to not corrupt his little sister."

"Nobody is corrupting me!" I exclaim.

"His intentions are good," Averman says.

I pull away from him enough to turn and look him in the eye. "My mom always says that's what the road to hell is paved with. Right now, Charlie's laying his own path."

"Baby, calm down." Les touches his fingertips to my jawline, making sure he has my attention. "Look, I'll talk to Charlie, okay? I'll make sure he knows that what's between you and me is just between you and me. It'll be fine. Trust me?" His eyes are locked on mine, unwavering.

I grumble and sigh before reluctantly nodding.

Les grins. "That's my girl." He goes to stand. "I think I'm going to go pay a visit to your brother. Walk me out?" He says his goodbyes to Dean and Fulton, and I walk with him, hand in hand, to the Reeds' front door.

"Les," I start, but he interrupts me before I can say anything else.

"Maggie, listen to me," he says, his face so close to mine that I feel like I'm seconds away from kissing him again. "I'm going to talk to Charlie. I'm going to play nice. I am going to very calmly, very politely remind him that he is not part of our relationship, assure him that I'm not..." he breaks off, trying to think of the right words. "I'm not besmirching your virtue, or whatever," he finally says. "And I'm going to make sure he realizes that he has nothing to worry about. Okay?"

I lean forward, my lips almost touching his. "Okay," I whisper against his mouth. I can feel his lips, firm and authoritative, and his tongue darts out to touch my own. I can feel the butterflies low in my stomach kicking into overdrive. My hands toy with the hem of Averman's t-shirt and I take a half-step closer, pressing myself tight against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat up against mine, and I swear it's beating every bit as fast as mine is. I slip one hand underneath, pressing it flat against his stomach. My palm rests right above the waistband of his jeans, and I blush when I get a momentary thought of what's underneath. I nervously slide my hand up until I can no longer feel denim on my hand.

"Maggie," he half-whispers, half-groans as he pulls away. "I'm trying to convince Charlie that your virtue remains smirch-free." He kisses me one more time before stepping across the threshold and scooping his keys out of his pocket. He grins widely. "I better go while I'm still telling him the truth."


End file.
